Ways John and Sherlock Did NOT have Sex
by Yarsian
Summary: When John and Sherlock finally go public with their relationship, certain friends and acquaintances can't handle their imagination and come up with some unique ways John and Sherlock did NOT have sex for the first time, then the way they actually did.
1. Gregory Lestrade

The Ways John and Sherlock Didn't Have Sex.

Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade sat at his desk pouring over paperwork. It was always paper work. He understood why it was necessary, in theory, but he wanted to be out on the street solving, or hell maybe even preventing, crime, not filling out form after form, after form….After form. His eyes crossed involuntarily, or he had accidentally filled out the same form for the same case twice, both were equally likely at this point. He groaned and shut his eyes, digging the heels of his palms into them. His head had a dull throb already, and this was going to be a long day. He understood why Sherlock would shoot walls out of boredom, sometimes.

Thankfully, Sally Donovan ran into his office. She had a wide grin on her face, her dark eyes lightened with…excitement, Greg was pretty sure it was excitement. He wasn't a detective inspector for nothing.

"I knew it!" the young woman crowed. "I bloody well knew it. We all knew it!" Her hands reached up and shook with a kind of happiness he'd seen his daughters express while watching Doctor Who.

"Know what?" Gregory had no idea what Sally was talking about.

Her jaw dropped, "Haven't you been online?"

Lestrade raised his eyebrows and spread his hands over the countless unorganized files on his desk and muttered, "Paperwork. Which, shouldn't you be working on some as well?"

"This is too exciting!" Donovan exclaimed.

Lestrade leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow, "Whatever this is, it better be worth delaying a whole division's paperwork."

"Just get on John's blog," Sally said in lieu of an actual explanation. While Greg knew Sally wasn't a 'fan' of John's blog in the traditional sense, she kept up with it well enough.

"What is it?"

"I can't tell you," She didn't explain. "You need to just get on the blog and see it yourself."

Normally, Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade wouldn't just cave to Sally's demand to get onto John's blog, but Greg was curious and he did kind of wanted Sergeant Donovan to stop shouting, his headache wasn't being helped by it at all. He cleared off his keyboard and mouse, happily noticing he hadn't filled the same form out twice (though he did make a mental note to get his eyes checked), he opened his browser and went over to his bookmarks, and clicked on the link to John Watson's blog.

The newest post read as follows:

_**You Were Right**_

_I thought if I admitted it right off the bat I could hopefully avoid the millions of "I told you so's" and "I knew it's." but Sherlock feels this is 'highly improbable.' I have no other ideas for how to say this though, so here it comes._

_I, Doctor John Hamish Watson, have entered a romantic relationship with Sherlock Holmes. _

_That is all I am going to say on the topic for now._

_EDIT: There have been far too many questions so I'll answer a few. A FEW, which implies three ,therefore I'll address the three most insistent topics.1) It's been going on a month and a half so far. 2) No, I will not say who initiated or how it happened. 3) No, I will not answer questions about Sherlock's cock other than yes, I have seen it. THAT IS ALL._

_EDIT: I, John Watson, did not write the above edit. I swear. I can't delete it either, so you know it wasn't me.—JW_

Greg's jaw felt like it was at his the level of his knees. "Oh. My. God."

"I know right?" Sally smiled.

"I don't know if this was unexpected or completely expected," the detective said shaking his head gently back and forth. "Wow. Good for them," he finally managed with a smile. "They're good for each other, weirdly enough."

"So, what do you think about that edit?"

"I'd seen Sherlock making a stupid edit like that yeah," Greg said noncommittally. He didn't really want to think about Sherlock or John's, erm, manhoods.

"Well, duh," Sally said quickly, rolling her eyes. "But how do you think it happened?"

"You know, I really don't want to think about it. And, now that I've seen the post we both have paperwork we need to be doing," Detective Lestrade ended the conversation, lowering his head back down to the clutter on his desk. He sighed in relief as Sally left the office.

Greg truly had been thinking about that edit. His mind was already formulating what had happened, against his will. He tried to shake the images forming in his head, but he couldn't. Try as he might he thought what it would be like to be a fly on the wall of John and Sherlock's first time. This is what his, in his opinion, sick mind came up with.

-GL-

Sherlock walks into the flat, clearly agitated beyond the point of decency, John, at first doesn't notice, because a) he's working on his blog and b) the difference between this and Sherlock's typical Wednesday afternoon attitude is barely noticeable.

Sherlock is like a man possessed, tearing the flat apart. This is what clues John Watson in to his dear friend's problem.

"You made me promise to hide them," John explains while continuing his hunt and peck typing as if nothing was wrong with Sherlock turning their flat upside down in a nicotine withdrawal haze. Well, it is Wednesday.

"But we haven't had a case in weeks!" the detective shouts across the small area between the two men. "I'm so bored, John!"

"Then do what everyone else does," John said standing calmly. "Find a way to entertain yourself. "

"So easy for you, isn't it John?" Sherlock spits, stalking into John's personal space. "Just sit around and watch crap telly with Mrs. Hudson, write your blog, or go on dates."

"Yeah, well, you could update your website, or do some experiments, or something other than bitch at me about how fucking bored you are!"

"Ooh, what's this I see all over our _dear_ doctor's face?" Sherlock's eyes widen and his mouth purses, "I see. John Watson is sexually frustrated and taking his anger out on his flatmate."

"Because, you taking out your boredom and general frustration on me is so damn fair?"

"Yes, it is!" Sherlock shouts.

"Really?" John asks, turning his head to the side and crossing his arms. "How?"

"Because if you could control yourself—"

"Oh, now Sherlock Holmes," he says uncrossing his arms and planting his hands firmly on his hips, "is going to piss and moan at me about my apparent lack impulse control."

"Oh, John. Only you could stoop so low. Do try and be creative."

"And," John continues over his roommate's attempt at an interruption, "And, if he would just use that stupid brain of his, he'd realize his boredom and my frustration could be solved with the same fucking thing."

Before Sherlock could react, which, really is pretty damn fast, John's hands are on either side of Sherlock's face and pulling the younger man's lips firmly onto his own. Quite a feat of strength actually.

Their lips meet in an intense battle of control. John sucks Sherlock's lower lip into his mouth and bites down roughly, not enough to draw blood, but enough to get his point across. When John relents, Sherlock takes his opportunity to shove his tongue into the shorter man's mouth, while moving his hands to firmly rest on John's arse. He squeezes John's bum tightly.

John lets out a growl and lowers his hands onto Sherlock's purple shirt. He yanks it open violently, buttons flying in every direction, one even landing in the skull on the mantle.

Sherlock lets out an involuntary gasp; he's losing control and allows John to take control of the kiss. He moves his mouth down to Sherlock's now completely exposed neck and bites down again. He begins sucking and licking madly where Sherlock's neck meets his shoulder. Sherlock's eyes shoot open and he shouts, "Oh, God, John!"

Sherlock, not one to be outdone in anything, shoves his hands down John's trousers and pants and began stroking John's prominent erection with one hand, and removes John's clothing with the other, John is impressed by Sherlock's acrobatics. "Jesus-fucking-Christ, Sherlock!" John mutters into his friend's neck.

John lets loose another moan, hotly into Sherlock's neck, making the detective squirm in delight. John's hands find their way to Sherlock's belt. He undoes the belt and made quick work of the trousers and boxers, pushing them down onto Sherlock's thighs. John began mirroring Sherlock's strokes.

It's Sherlock's turn to moan this time and his eyes fluttered shut. "Oh, John," he whispered. John takes a step back and smiles at his work on Sherlock's body. John slowly lowers himself to his knees, his tongue, wetting his lips with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He grabs a hold of the base of Sherlock's cock with his left hand and he surrounds the tip with his mouth.

"Fuck, yes John!" Sherlock shouts as soon as John's lips make contact with his penis's swollen head. After a few swift strokes from John's hand and some positively lovely sucking Sherlock feels his knees give out.

"It's okay, I've got you," John whispers, catching the man with his free arm. The men lower themselves to the floor as the laid on their sides, each man's face buried in the other's crotch. John feels the head of his prick hit the back of Sherlock's throat. The men start pumping their hips furiously into each other's mouths. Their orgasms rip through them quickly and violently. John tries desperately swallowed everything Sherlock gave him, missing very little of Sherlock's come. John nearly comes again as he feels Sherlock swallow around him.

When their orgasms finished the men simultaneously roll onto their backs, panting heavily. Sherlock slowly turns himself around and crawls up John's body, resting his head on the doctor's good shoulder. His eyes flicked up to John's mouth and he smirks.

"So, better than a cigarette?" John asks quietly, a pleased smile on his face.

Sherlock smils and nuzzles further into John's shoulder. "God, yes."

-GL-

Gregory Lestrade shook his head. He did not want to think of two of his friends having sex. Yet he does. He sticks his hands down his trousers and has a quick wank.

Afterward he sighs he pulls out a nicotine patch and rolls up his sleeve.

God, this was going to be a long day.

* * *

><p>Thanks for taking the time to read this! Any comments are welcome! I'm sorry this isn't beta'd or brit-picked, but if anyone wants to do that for me I'd love to chat with you! Also, find me on tumblr at yarsian dot tumblr dot com. Thanks agian!<p>

Special thanks to my beta Tea and Fairy Lights for making this better.


	2. Molly Hooper

Molly Hooper

It was a slow day at the morgue when the news broke. Generally slow days at the morgue were considered a good thing as that meant there weren't too terribly many deaths, but it left Molly with very little to do. Her mood lightened when she a middle age man who died in a car accident, useless to Sherlock probably but for her… He was perfect. Just what she needed. The car accident was so bad no one would realize there was something wrong with a few missing body parts.

She retrieved her scalpel and gently began to remove the object of her desire, the man's left pinky. It was of similar length and build to the world's only consulting detective's and it would fit perfectly on her shrine. She carefully embalmed the long, slender pinky and slipped it into a sandwich bag and hid it within her purse for later.

Her shrine to Sherlock was made from only the highest quality parts she can steal from cadavers. She lovingly embalmed each piece and used only the smallest, most delicate stitches to hold it together. She'd been working on it for quite some time, stealing parts from certain bodies where people wouldn't be missed or wouldn't be used in experiments by a _certain_ frequent visitor to her lab. Since she knew her crush was a bit one sided, she would just have her own…erm…consulting detective in her flat. Whenever she had extra funds, she'd buy exact replicas of his clothes. Jim surprisingly liked the idea very much. He even offered to get her more authentic parts if she wanted. She later figured out what he meant of course, the reason she ended it. As much as she had liked Jim, even though she was very much NOT his type, she couldn't put you-know-who in danger.

She sighed wistfully and closed her eyes after she sat down at her computer. She opened up her computer and saw The News of the Day: John and Sherlock got together, like _together_ together. It was all over John's blog, and a couple fan sites. Not that Molly followed them habitually, or cried about it, or cried about it to Ricky Martin while stuffing her face full of biscuits from the vending machine or anything. Okay? Well, maybe she did have the blog set as her homepage, but that's because she considered John, and well,_ him_, good friends of hers. Specifically John. Not going to mention Sherlock, no.

Oh who was she kidding? Everyone, _especially_ Sherlock, knew she had had the hots for the man with perfectly carved cheekbones and peerless, colour changing eyes from the first time he dramatically stormed into her morgue, coat tails flying, hair dangerously hanging over his eyes, and asked if she had access to any severed toes. It had been love at first sight. Well, at least, on her part.

Well, at least now she knew that her gender was the problem; can't hate a guy for having an incompatible sexual orientation. Nope. Not again. You can be frustrated and feel depressed, but you can't hate the man who also sees what a nice man John really is. Even if this is the… fifth, or so, gay man she'd fallen for in the past two years.

John was so lucky. He already got to see Sherlock every day, sometimes wearing nothing more than a bed sheet draped dramatically around that perfectly sculpted porcelain body of his. It really wasn't fair.

Molly's mind began to wander, as it tends to do on slow days, wondering just what happened the night John and Sherlock got together.

-MH-

John Watson rode home from the clinic in an odd mood. He wasn't exactly happy, but he wasn't sad either, he just felt odd. Well, no, he was happy, exceedingly happy, but he felt out of sorts for being so damn happy.

He tried not to think about why he felt this way. He desperately tried to think about he wasn't bothered that he hadn't been on a date with a woman in nearly a month. Most importantly, he had put his whole being into not squealing, giddy with excitement, when Sherlock had texted him earlier asking if John wanted to go to Angelo's for dinner that night.

When he arrived home he heard Sherlock upstairs, playing his violin. Not an unusual occurrence, true, but memorable none the less. Memorable, because about a week ago Sherlock and he had been discussing said violin playing and John happened to mention one of his favorite pieces, the 1812 Overture. John expected Sherlock to say something along the lines of, "Boring, and predictable. Really John, don't you have any taste?" But, Sherlock had stayed eerily quiet, a dark, happy look.

This very piece was what John heard as he was up to 221B. Sherlock had never played this song before, well, at least not that John had heard. It sounded perfect though, as if Sherlock had played it a million times to sold-out audiences across the globe and he was imitating the whole orchestra, with just his violin, it was truly incredible.

John opened the door to the flat, and he watched Sherlock expertly play the violin. Sherlock faced the window, perfectly tailored suit hugging his slim hips and covering his sculpted bum in a most appetizing way as he somehow managed to imitate the sound of cannon fire on his violin.

Sherlock turned himself around slowly, a small, surprisingly gentle, and yet completely genuine, smile on his face, while never missing a note on his violin. "Welcome home, John" Sherlock's low voice intoned.

John instinctively returned the smile. "Hello," he replied weakly, his knees giving out slightly at the sight. "What's all this then?" he asked trying desperately to maintain his cool. John didn't think it worked too well, Sherlock could always see right through him, and John felt himself caring less and less each day.

Sherlock's smile widened, emphasizing his cherubic cheekbones in such a lovely way. "It's been six months to the day since you moved in here, thought we might celebrate tonight."

John's smile grew as well. He shouldn't be surprised at all Sherlock remembered, it wasn't normally something he'd care about, but then again, Sherlock always surprised him so he failed to see how this was any different. "Yeah, it is. And here I thought I'd be the only one who remembered." He sighed happily, "How foolish of me."

"Never underestimate the great Sherlock Holmes," the statuesque man beamed as he finished the last note of the symphony, his emotions overriding him briefly as the notes screech out of the violin. He rested his violin gently back in its nearby case.

"Thank you," John said, his smile clearly giving away how happy the events of this perfect evening had already made him.

"Don't thank me yet," Sherlock's voice rumbled playfully, "we're far from finished."

"Oh?" John asked with nervous anticipation.

"Of course," Sherlock smirked, "or had you already forgotten that we're having dinner at Angelo's tonight?"

"No," John said, shaking his head. "No I hadn't forgotten, just making sure you hadn't picked up a case or something."

Sherlock's face briefly looked down, a faint, delicate flush covering his porcelain features, "Actually, I specifically told Lestrade I was far too busy to be called in tonight."

John's eyes grew wide with shock and happiness, "Wha...Really?" Sherlock nodded. "Oh, thank you. I know that must have been difficult for you and he probably gave you a hard time for it."

Sherlock smiled and looked down at his feet, blushing slightly, "He did, but I'm hoping it will be worth it." Before John could react Sherlock grabbed his hand and pulled him out into the road.

There were three things John was absolutely certain about. First, Sherlock was a detective. Second there was a part of him that thirsted for John's milk, they were always out. And third, he looked just like Benedict Cumberbatch.

John's brain finally turned back on, the dazzling perfection of the evening overwhelming him, at Angelo's, having already finished his meal.

"So then I said to the sister that unless she hadn't baby sat for her usual family recently she was most likely to be the next victim." Sherlock finished his story. He quirked his head slightly and briefly studied John. "I've upset you?" he asked unsure. John had never heard Sherlock sound unsure of himself like that before. It was endearing to hear him care about upsetting him. John felt his heart continue to melt.

"No, no," he shook his head, "I'm just thinking."

"Something you're always telling me not to," Sherlock replied, quirking the side of his mouth into a seductive smirk, looking at him through his dark eyelashes.

He laughed, happily nervous, his heart fluttering ever so slightly at the sight before him "Yeah, it's just, are you okay? You're acting a bit off."

Instead of looking offended Sherlock looked even more amused, "I thought I was acting well within the parameters of 'normal date behavior.'"

John's jaw dropped open, barely containing a smile. "This is a date?"

"Yes, I thought that obvious," Sherlock looked anxiously at John. "Is that a problem?"

John found his smile growing exponentially, "Actually, no. It isn't. I've wanted this so badly for a while, but didn't know how to go about it."

Sherlock moved around the table, kneeling next to John. He grabbed one of John's wrists and looked adoringly up at him with those grey-blue-green eyes shining in the soft candlelight. "Isn't that why I'm the genius?" Sherlock asked both gently and saucily, the man himself a living contradiction, as his hand trailed upward while the other met it to cradle John's face with his soft, delicate hands.

"Yeah, it is." John leaned down and kissed Sherlock; it wasn't entirely a chaste kiss, but not too many sexual overtones, just in case, John didn't want to be seen as too forward, that would be impolite. With a playful, teasing grin he added, "Now what is your brilliant, genius mind telling you?"

Sherlock paused, his eyes, the color of the sky, looking up in mock thought, "I'm not sure it's my _mind,_" he chuckled deeply, "that's telling me this, per se, but I'm thinking we go back to Baker Street." He leaned up and kissed John, his cupid's bow mouth moving insistently against John's thin lips, "Yes, back to Baker Street for," his voice dropped dangerously low, "_proper_ end of date activities." John felt himself shiver and after one last parting kiss, they exited the restaurant.

The cab ride home was excruciatingly long and torturous, gentle teases on thighs, inching closer to where John was aching to be touched, just outside the view of the completely too curious cabby. The instant they were safely tucked away from the prying eyes of London in 221B the passionate and heated kisses started up again in earnest, hands tentatively exploring strong, muscled backs and lean, chiseled sides.

"John," Sherlock whispered hot and low in his ear, licking it seductively, "I suggest we take this to a bedroom before we continue." He gently stroked John's swollen cock through his trousers with the back of his pale, warm hand.

"Well, you are a genius," John replied adoringly, his eyes shining in admiration while his eyelashes fluttered seductively. Sherlock grabbed John's hand gently, but assuredly and slowly lead him up the stairs to John's bedroom after they both quickly toed off their shoes.

"Don't want to wake Mrs. Hudson, with too many noises," Sherlock explained with a wry smirk and a deadly wink. John's whole body flushed and shivered in anticipation. Once within the safety of John's bedroom Sherlock's heated kisses started up again, his supple tongue and swollen lips gently working John's mouth open, into an unknown level of pleasure. Sherlock slowly and tantalizingly removed John's coat and pulled off his jumper. His fingers slowly and deftly began working at the buttons of the shirt underneath. His head dipped down and nipped mischievously at John's neck. John whimpered at the contact. "That good?" Sherlock asked with a self assured grin.

"God yes," John replied weakly, his own hands tentatively stroking Sherlock's sides and removing his coat and suit jacket. "So perfect. Never thought being with a bloke could be this good. But then again," he looked demurely up to Sherlock's eyes which were glistening in the pale moonlight, "it's you."

Sherlock shivered involuntarily as he felt John's hands working at the buttons on his tight, purple shirt. He added darkly, "Oh, John, we've only just begun." Sherlock slowly pushed John backwards, his strong, long arms gingerly lowering John onto the bed. His long, muscular legs straddled John's hips and slowly took off his undershirt, finally getting a good look at John's bare chest. "John," Sherlock whispered reverently, "You are so beautiful," His long, thin fingers gently tracing over John's chest, gently tracing the outline of John's scar before casually stroking John's sensitive chest. At that he felt his own shirt fall of his shoulders.

"Well," John said, mirroring Sherlock's movements, the smooth warm skin rippling underneath the gentle prodding fingers, the strong, yet lean muscles flexed under touches, "Look who's talking."

"Oh, John," Sherlock leaned down, pressing his supple lips to John's jaw line, "The things I'm going to do to you." John whimpered at the seductive sounds combined with the erotic touches.

"I-" He swallowed desperately, hungry for more of the perfection of Sherlock, "I can't wait."

John felt Sherlock's lips smirk against the skin of his neck before Sherlock gave it a strong, but not too strong, nip. His voice is low as he whispered, "Trust me, I know."

John was suddenly nervous, his voice quivered as he whispered, "I've never done this before, with a man I mean." His face flushed red as he continued, "I don't know what to do."

Sherlock's smile is uncharacteristically gentle, and slightly bemused, as he crawled up John's body. His arms wrapped around John's shoulders and Sherlock looks John in the eye. His eyes shined like stars as he whispered, "It's my first time." John raised one eyebrow at the implication. "Your assumption is correct, John."

John's eyes watered at the revelation. Sherlock kissed away the errant tear. "You mustn't worry so John, its all fine, remember?" He kissed his way down to John's lips, this kiss is full of promises and reassurance. It's firm and confident, yet showing the slightest hint of hesitation now.

Reluctantly, John breaks the kiss for air. "I love you Sherlock," John said without thinking. He freezes when the words click in his head.

Sherlock smiled, a large, genuine smile, and whispered, "I love you too John." He bent down and kissed John languidly. Sherlock's open mouth kisses began to trail down John's body. "I love you so much," he murmured against the flesh of John's abdomen, his tongue briefly flicking into John's navel.

Sherlock continued his crawl down John's body and flicked the doctor's belt open with a seemingly practiced ease. He unbuttoned the trousers and bendt down. A mischievous glint returned to his luminescent eyes and he leaned forward and took the zip between his teeth, pulling it down ever so slowly. John felt desire course through his veins, straight to that sensitive area between his legs. John moans slightly as Sherlock removes his trousers and pants in one smooth motion.

Finally free from his constraints John's legs spread wide and Sherlock settled himself between them. Sherlock pulls a bottle of lubricant out from his trouser pocket and slicks his finger. His warm, wet mouth enveloped John's glistening manhood in one swift motion, while his lubricated finger gently worked John open.

John shuttered and moaned at the dual sensations. His right hand fisted the duvet tightly, while the left stroked Sherlock's soft tresses encouragingly. He jumped and gasped as Sherlock added a second, long finger. John began to moan Sherlock's name softly. He felt Sherlock's pouty lips smirk against his shaft and then he felt it, Sherlock's deft fingers slowly massaged John's prostate. John whimpered again, as his hips canted of their own accord.

"Please Sherlock," John begged as the detective's long fingers pressed insistently on his prostate. "Please," his voice came out shaky as he propped himself up on his elbows, "Please make love to me."

Sherlock's mouth slowly and gently released John's swollen cock, "Gladly." His free hand lubricated his own, long engorged member and he wriggled up John's body slowly and cautiously. He removed the hand inside of John and he kissed John passionately. When he broke his kiss as the head of his member paused at John's opening. "Last chance to back out."

John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's pointy, narrow hips. "Never." Sherlock nodded and kissed John gently before he guided himself in. John gasped at the feeling of Sherlock inside him, it wasn't unpleasant, as nothing with Sherlock could be completely unpleasant, but it was an entirely new sensation, one that he would be glad to have again.

Sherlock stilled above him. His eyes fluttered shut and his mouth was open in a small circle. "John, you are perfect." There were no words after that. Sherlock rocked against John gently at first. John shuddered as Sherlock successfully brushed his prostate with each thrust.

The pleasure is indescribable, as neither man had ever experienced something like it, they don't last terribly long, but to them it feels like a life time of perfection.

John's climaxed first, it was loud and inelegant and messy and perfect. He tightened around Sherlock while screaming his lover's name into the night. Sherlock followed his partner after a few erratic thrusts.

Both men panted heavily as Sherlock pulled out and collapses beside John, his arms pulling the doctor close to his pale chest. They gave a few last lazy kisses before both men drifted quietly into sleep.

-MH-

Molly's breathing was erratic and her heart was pounding. She glanced around quickly, hoping no one was anywhere near the morgue. Seeing no one she bent over and fished her secret weapon out of her purse, a pocket "Hello Kitty" vibrator. She turned it on and shoved it down her knickers.

Thank God for slow days.

* * *

><p>I would like to say I was on drugs while I wrote this chapter, alas I was not. I would like to add I apologize for raping my thesaurus. Finally I would like thank the best beta ever, Tea and Fairy Lights, for helping me take this chapter to it's fullest potential.<p>

Also, I do like Molly, this is just crack, don't take it seriously.


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